


Bruise

by wingdings20



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempted Sexual Assault, Batfamily (DCU), Family Dynamics, Gen, Not Beta Read, though it is discussed non-explicitly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingdings20/pseuds/wingdings20
Summary: When Dick suddenly returns to the Manor, Bruce notices that something is off.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 47
Kudos: 251





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first ever fanfic (originally posted to fanfiction.net). It's taken me an embarrassingly long time to write this...hopefully in the future I'll be much quicker with updating lol. 
> 
> Specific warnings will be at the beginning of each chapter, so please keep yourself safe!
> 
> I hope you enjoy✨

Dick had seemed...different since he first arrived. Guarded. Too performative of his usual personality. It had felt like Bruce was interacting with "Richard Grayson," the public persona of a heartfelt kid with no real worries; just agreeable and mood-brightening. Which had the opposite effect on Bruce. 

About three days prior, Dick had given Bruce a call before his patrol time, which was not unusual. His spontaneous phone calls were often done hesitantly, coming in right before it was too late and right when he had probably made up his mind to go through with it. 

His hesitance wasn't misplaced, given the unspoken awkwardness both men still felt at being open or direct with asking for help or showing affection too forwardly. However, it was never unwanted or discouraged; it had just taken a while to regain the relationship they had once had in Dick's adolescence.

"Hey, Bruce!" Dick started off a little too enthusiastically "Did I catch you at a bad time?" 

Bruce glanced over the computer's time stamp which read 10:46; he had about twelve minutes to spare if he was sticking with the schedule he had set out for himself. 

"No, I'm available for civilian communications for the next twelve minutes. What is it?" 

Assuming Dick had called with a question or concern in mind, Bruce wanted to get straight to the point. It was easier on both of them to be comfortably "professional" about these rare exchanges but still familiar with one another. 

Dick sighed in what seemed to be relief before continuing "Oh, good, well I just wanted to touch base real quick to see if it'd be alright for me to come by the Manor for a bit? Figured it's been a while since I last paid my wardly-dues to Alfie.”

This was the first thing that stood out as odd to Bruce. When it came to sudden visits from Dick, that's what they were: sudden. The boy would be in the cave or kitchen without any prior warning of his arrival (except for Alfred being alerted in advance on occasion, those appearances usually being made with a fresh cookie in hand). 

"Of course, Dick. You're welcome anytime. I'll let Alfred know to prepare your room." 

"Awesome. Thanks, Bruce." The relief in his tone this time was obvious. "Well, then I guess I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Yes," Bruce replied evenly "see you then." 

And with that, he hung up. As he finished the last of his preparations for patrol, he allowed his mind to wander over Dick's unusual forwardness and sudden need to double-check with him. Whatever the reason, he was sure it would present itself once Dick arrived. With that thought, he left the cave deciding to worry about it after patrol.

—

Once Dick arrived the following afternoon as promised, however, there was no reason presented. 

He had shown up in a Bludhaven taxi, which Bruce really didn't understand the need for when Alfred was always more than happy to drive Dick from his apartment, but Bruce had learned better than to press the issue. 

"Hey Alfred!" Dick threw his arms wide open to embrace the old butler as he answered the door. 

"Hello, Master Richard. Always a pleasure to see you on this side of the river." Alfred simply endured the embrace, a gentle pat on Dick's shoulder to return the warmth. 

"I take it you have no luggage?" He asked, pointedly glancing at Dick's empty hands. 

"Oh, yeah, I just figured I'd wear whatever I had here. Just staying a night or two,” he answered sheepishly, preparing for the motherly-scolding he was sure to receive. 

Right on cue, Alfred turned sharply, leading his guest in and adding "Well, despite what you may believe, we would appreciate to have you for more than a few days in old sweatpants and faded t-shirts, but if you insist." 

As they passed through the main entrance and into the more homely quarters of the kitchen, Bruce emerged from the hall. 

"Dick," he greeted in a calm manner. Peculiarly though, the person in question tensed ever so slightly at Bruce's address, something he made a small but strong note of. 

"Hey Bruce," Dick smiled. Unlike with Alfred, the physical embrace was replaced with a beaming expression. "How'd patrol go last night?" 

Holding his place in the hall's threshold, Bruce reported that there had only been a few skirmishes he had broken up, but no major events or arrests. After a few follow-up questions and taking a seat at the bar, Dick glanced around before asking "Is Tim not around?" 

This was the second note Bruce made, though it was a much larger peculiarity than the slight tensing earlier. 

"Tim is with his father this weekend, they went for a visit to his step-mother's relatives in New York." 

There had been no resistance to Tim being away for a weekend, not only to deter any suspicion from his parents about the double-life he was currently leading, but Bruce was painfully aware that it was a rare occurrence for Tim's family to prioritize time spent with him. Bruce also knew that Dick was aware of this as well, and was generally very involved in Tim's life. 

So it was surprising to hear that Dick had forgotten this rather prominent piece of information regarding Tim, despite having been informed of it only two weeks prior. As if catching onto the suspicion of his uncharacteristic slip in regards to his pseudo-brother, Dick's face nearly flushed as his eyes widened in recognition. 

"That's right! That's right, wow, I totally forgot..." his hand covered his mouth and slid down his face, head shaking in disbelief at forgetting something so important. Recovering from--or rather masking--his slip up quite quickly, Dick shot Bruce a good-natured smile, one he would have worn in his early years at the Manor when he was scolded for a small etiquette faux-pas. 

Again, Bruce felt quite unsettled by the performative quality of this reaction. 

"Well, I guess I have been a little tired lately," Dick admitted, now rubbing the back of his neck. 

Taking him in fully now, Bruce did agree that Dick looked a little more ragged than he usually did by the weekend; it was always more demanding to do night work throughout the week. His eyes a little heavier, posture a little more exhausted. Even his clothing choice stood out. 

Dick was wearing his usual blue jeans, but paired with a rather worn, grey hoodie, instead of his typical t-shirt and jacket or fitted sweater. The hood's draw-string was slightly drawn, covering most of his neck. The motion of rubbing it drawing more attention to this detail than before, Dick noticed that Bruce's eyes happened to glance over his neck. Almost immediately Dick lowered his hand, a little too fast to seem natural. 

In response to Bruce discerning that detail as well, Dick simply stood and announced with a stretch "So with that being the case! I'm gonna head upstairs to crash a little early," he pushed his stool in and turned without waiting for a response, which Bruce usually didn't have. But this time, he did speak up.

"All right, but I do believe Alfred will be serving dinner at seven. I'm fairly certain..."

"...he expects me to be at the table, got it." Dick finished the warning, throwing one last sheepish grin over his shoulder before heading towards the main staircase. 

—

Something was most definitely amiss, but Bruce was not yet sure what. If it had been an issue with a case that was important enough to come to the Manor, and presumably the cave, Dick would have been more forthcoming with information and not tell-tale signs. So assuming that it was nothing crucial to anyone's safety, it either had to be a personal matter involved in a case, or a personal matter involved in his civilian life. 

Regardless, a personal matter of any sort meant it would take a while to get out of Dick. He would go to great lengths of self-sacrifice to avoid burdening those he cared for, something that worried Bruce to no end. But Dick's presence and directness in reaching out, no matter how hesitant or thinly-veiled it was, was a sign Bruce took to mean that Dick eventually would open up.

At least, that's what he had expected. The following two days had gone without any issues presented to Bruce at all, not verbally anyway. He had only seen Dick a total of three times since their initial exchange: the following dinner that evening, dinner last night, and once more on his way to the cave. The exchanges from the latter two instances could hardly be considered conversations, even combined. 

It wasn't as if it were normal for Dick to spend the entire day with Bruce whenever he was at the Manor, but what was abnormal was how avoidant he was being. On top of the unusual distance he had placed between Bruce and himself, it seemed the boy was also keeping some injuries under wraps. 

Dick was an adult, and well trained at that, so Bruce trusted him to know his boundaries to a logistical extent. But again, he also knew the boy to be self-sacrificial when it came to being a possible burden. In the past, Dick had spent time at the Manor to recover from injuries of some sort or the other, in his own time. Though in this instance being paired with his red-flag behaviors, Bruce decided he should push a little.

Thankfully, he was able to catch him around six pm in the hall leading to the study. 

"Dick," Bruce called softly, yet firmly. By now, there was no visible tense, but the slight strain in his easy-going smile gave him away when he turned in reply. 

"Hey. What's up?" 

Bruce carefully considered how to set up his question before finally speaking "Would you like to spar in the cave this evening?" 

The strain in his expression became even more apparent, and as if he were aware, Dick quickly corrected it.

"Oh, uh…I'm actually just getting over some bruised ribs, so I wouldn't wanna push it too much just yet." Again, an apologetic tone, accompanied by yet another uncharacteristic excuse. In the past, Dick had voluntarily (and quite eagerly) pushed for training in worse conditions.

Feeling that this was the time to strike, Bruce responded. 

"Yes, I've noticed. I wouldn't want to push you too hard, but it seems...that you have a lot on your mind." 

Dick seemed to blush slightly, his transparency dawning on him, and simply glanced at the floor, nodding slightly. Before he could say any more, Bruce moved past him and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"There is no pressure at all, but the offer is yours to take or leave. I'll be in the cave if you need me." 

With a reassuring squeeze, he continued on down the hall, leaving Dick to look after him.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been close to thirty-five minutes before Dick appeared in the cave, wearing the same grey hoodie he had arrived in and athletic leggings. Turning from his computer only when he heard Dick’s footsteps reach the sparring mat, Bruce acknowledged him with a small nod. 

He was happier for the boy’s presence and unspoken acceptance of his honesty than he could show, but still happy nonetheless. Dick walked around the outer perimeter of the mat with a casual gait, linking his hands behind his back and stretching his shoulders in small bounces. 

“Figured I couldn’t pass you up on the offer. ‘Sides, wouldn’t wanna fall too far behind just because of a few bruised ribs,” he spoke with a fond teasing in his tone, the first genuine smile on his face since his arrival. It was small and guarded, but the warmth in his eyes couldn’t be faked.

Now in the center of the mat, Bruce returned the smile, adjusting the tape on his hands. He allowed Dick the time to stretch before they began, neither exchanging a word more. When Dick finally rolled his head and lowered into a defensive state, a signal that he was ready to begin, it surprised Bruce that he did not make to take off his hoodie. 

Normally he hated to have any unnecessary material on his person to hinder his movements (hence his cape-less attire as Nightwing). Not wanting to push his luck, though, he did not address it as he too fell into a prepared stance. They slowly began to circle each other, one trying to read the other, figure out who would make the first move. This time, it was Dick. 

He thrust his right foot out, making to cut into Bruce’s space in one fluid motion, but just as his hand followed through with the attack it was countered by a fall back. As they began their dance of push and pull, Bruce made note that most of the push was from Dick’s end. 

It was a refreshing change of pace; it meant Dick was eager, feeling more forward than he had been. These observations were affirmed when Bruce almost took a punch to the face while lost in his thoughts, eliciting a small smirk from the boy. Back on his toes, and glad for the change in mood, he decided to start pushing back more seriously. 

The shift in intent did not go unnoticed by Dick as he was now in swift retreat from Bruce’s offensive counters. 

“Getting serious now?” he huffed out, the same smirk returning to his face as he hopped just out of reach. 

In response, Bruce delivered an unexpected high-kick. Dick had just barely blocked it from making contact with his head using his forearm, and let out a laugh at just how off guard it had caught him. 

“I suggest you do the same,” Bruce returned the taunting tone. 

By now they were sparring in earnest, pulling their punches less, reading the other’s moves more sharply. Bruce could feel a few beads of sweat building on his brow, and one glance at Dick’s face—his eyes giving away where his next strike was intended—told him the boy was already dripping. His clothing could not have been exactly “breathable” compared to what he usually wore. 

Having anticipated which opening he would go for, Bruce caught Dick’s arm just as he moved his torso to evade the strike. It was easy to find grip in the excessive fabric of the hoodie, and he was able to subvert the momentum of the punch to pull Dick in closer. 

Deciding now was his best chance to gain the first “win,” Bruce grasped the fabric of the collar and forcefully placed his own right foot just behind Dick’s. Keeping his bruised ribs in mind, he was able to throw Dick down onto his back in a more controlled manner by keeping a firm grip on the garment.

Now laying face up, the collar of his hoodie still in Bruce’s hand, Dick laughed again. 

“Nice one…first point to you, big guy!” 

Looking down at his slightly flushed face, Bruce felt himself smile as well. However, now pulling the actual hoodie loose, Bruce caught glimpse of Dick’s neck. 

Two bruises were present, just above his collar bone and to the left; one more of a speckled red, the other larger and a deeper almost purple color. His mind immediately registered the specificity of the markings, and in an instant they disappeared beneath the fabric again as he released it. Still smiling and with what seemed to be renewed energy, Dick rolled to his feet and rolled his head. 

“Whew, been a while since you tossed me like that.”

“Hm,” Bruce merely hummed in agreement. He once again adjusted the tape on his hands as he paced a yard’s distance from Dick. Glancing up, Bruce could see that he too was pacing the mat and readjusting. 

“There’s no way it’s gonna happen again, though,” Dick challenged as they locked eyes, both once again dropping into a readied stance.

———

They had gone three more rounds, each one more drawn out than the last. Dick was right in that Bruce was not able to toss him again, but he more or less had the upper hand for the majority of their session. Now replenishing themselves with water, the two men sat on one of the benches in the locker area. 

Dick wiped his face with a towel, his bangs and the back of his hair dripping with sweat while his cheeks had taken on a more vibrant hue. Still, the outerwear remained on his person. Before Bruce could reflect on it being out of character, Dick broke the amicable silence that was previously only filled by their breathing. 

“It’s a good thing you offered to spar now. Another day and I might have lost 4-to-0 instead of 3-to-1,” he chuckled, taking another swig from his bottle. 

Doing the same, Bruce reflected on the opening he had left that only Dick was able to take advantage of with his acrobatic intuitions. The speed and agility to twist just bellow his strike and directly into close quarters was something he still managed to impress Bruce with, no matter how many times it had happened throughout the years. 

He turned to face the boy again, who was now scrubbing his hair with the towel before letting it rest on his shoulder. Feeling the silence had slipped into a point where conversation was welcome, Bruce spoke up. 

“I’m glad you came down to spar as well.” The acknowledgment of accepting his offer to talk was understood, as Dick simply looked into his eyes now, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah.”

Another moment passed before he continued “Thanks for that, by the way. It’s really helped to clear my mind a bit. And I appreciate it, Bruce,” he added on, now looking at the bottle in his hands as they rested between his knees. 

The close physical contact of the sparring had spoken volumes of Dick’s openness to communicate, the back and forth of their attacks a conversation in itself. For them, it had always been a more honest and readable way to communicate. But still, Bruce yearned to hear him voice his issues.

“And just what might it be that’s been on your mind?” Bruce asked in a nonchalant manner, focusing on his own bottle, offering a small distance for Dick to answer. In his peripheral vision, he could see the hesitance of the last few days reappear on Dick’s face. 

“It’s…nothing really. Well, it’s nothing I can’t handle on my own. I just needed to get out of the city—my city for a bit, is all. Out of my head, too,” he replied with a shrug. 

The conclusion of his answer sounded like it had been reached naturally enough that Bruce allowed himself a feeling of relief. It seemed that the sparring session really had helped a good deal if Dick’s tone of voice and ability to communicate were any indicator. 

“I just got a little,” he paused, searching “skittish is all.” Rubbing the back of his neck before shooting an apologetic look from under his bangs, he offered a small smile. “I feel pretty lame at being so spooked now that some time has passed.”

Bruce processed the small confession he had just received. Still an evasive answer, but filled with a surprising amount of honesty. Especially considering what Bruce had now surmised since their sparring session had begun. He thought on it for a few moments more, before bringing the bottle back to his lips 

“So I take it it is a ‘personal’ issue, then?” 

Unexpectedly, the boy seemed to be caught off guard, and a blush even seemed to overtake his already flushed features. 

“Uh…” there was a short pause followed by an awkward chuckle “yeah, you could say that.” His response was shy, if not embarrassed, and now Bruce could hardly resist teasing his partner who suddenly looked so young again. 

It was never like Dick to feel shyness or embarrassment in regard to his relationships. Most of them having been involved directly with his “night job,” there was typically never too much secrecy surrounding them, his partners being close allies and friends. And even still it was never like him to evade or deny it upon inquiry. So taking it to have been an occurrence outside of his second-life, Bruce felt it all right to carry through.

“Just make sure to take care. I doubt you should want Alfred or myself to rehash the ‘safety’ conversation,” he said into the open room, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. 

He drew one last sip from his bottle when he felt it. A sudden tension was now coiled in Dick’s frame, the boy having gone still. Looking at him now, Bruce could see that his eyes were staring fixedly at his bottle now and jaw set tight. This was not the reaction Bruce had anticipated.

However, before he could form a response or comment (or even a thought for that matter), Dick was already standing. 

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to go through that again,” his voice was clipped, trying to be lighthearted but clearly bothered. 

Every alarm that had been building up in Bruce’s mind over the last few days was now blaring. Dick had turned and was already walking towards the staircase, hiding his face in the gesture of wiping it with his towel. 

“Thanks again, Bruce. I’m heading up, I’ll see you at dinner.” He was already halfway across the open space when Bruce finally stood and called out “Dick.”

He stiffened, but obediently waited, though he did not turn around. 

“Dick,” Bruce called again in a softer tone, but not any less stern. “What happened?” 

Slowly, his shoulders relaxed once again. When Dick finally did turn to face him, his expression was perfectly crafted. 

“It’s just like you said, Bruce, a ‘personal’ issue. I’ll figure it out.” 

Bruce’s chest tightened at the strained, abashed expression meant to be read as a regretfully sheepish smile. 

“Sorry to make you worry.” Dick once again turned for the stairs, leaving his mentor feeling more at a loss than he had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for the comments & kudos :'-) 
> 
> I'm still playing around with how I break up paragraphs and whatnot, so you may see some changes in the future. The next chapters will be up shortly!


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner was spent in the same palpable tension that Bruce and Dick had last shared in the cave, though Dick was doing his utmost to ignore it. He made several comments about how good the beef stew Alfred had prepared was, finding any opportunity to engage with the butler as opposed to his adoptive father. 

In the thirty minutes it had taken Bruce to put away the sparring mats, shower, and change, he had come up with a plan of action to try and mend the gap he had just widened.They had had a real connection in the cave, and if he hadn’t been so careless as to presume the nature of Dick’s predicament, it might have lasted. 

Evidently, said predicament was something for which the boy felt guilty for, or something he felt Bruce would punish him over. He couldn’t think of anything short of breaking their Rule that would warrant this level of self-flagellation, especially if it was something that had left the boy so worn out. 

Bruce’s worry had only grown by the time Dick removed his napkin from his lap, clearing his throat before rising. 

“Well, Alfred, thanks again for the meal. Was really starting to miss food that hasn’t been heated up in a microwave,” he leaned over to clear away his plates, but not before Alfred swooped in to take them off his hands.

“Ah yes, a reassuring admission to hear right before your departure.” Bruce’s head perked up at that, quickly meeting Dick’s fretful eyes from across the table: he had been caught. 

“You’re leaving tonight?” 

“Uh, yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, a wary smile crossing his face before he turned to Alfred, looking a little helpless. 

The butler responded in mock innocence “Oh, was I not to tell Master Bruce of your departure?”

“No, no, of course not, I—I was just gonna tell you after dinner,” he turned to Bruce, palms open in a show of surrender. “Er, now,” he amended. 

Bruce pushed aside his own plate and rose, swiping his mouth with his napkin before locking eyes with Dick once again. 

“Dick,” he began, cautiously approaching. “Before you take your leave, I wanted to ask if you wouldn’t join me for patrol tomorrow night. Tim will be back and I know he’d regret to have missed you.” 

The slight twinge in Nightwing’s expression only confirmed what Bruce already knew; it was playing dirty, but he wasn’t above leveraging the younger boy against Dick at this point. 

“Bruce…” Dick looked him in the eyes now, his own all clear blue and regret. “You know I’d love to see Tim, but there are some things I gotta wrap up in the ‘haven. Been putting it off for too long.” 

“Three days too long, I assume?”

A soft laugh “Yeah.” 

Bruce pursed his lips and gave an understanding nod, taking a step back and allowing Dick the room to take his leave. 

Before walking past however, Dick offered one last truce. 

“If you really need the help, I’ll be in touch. Tell Tim I’m sorry I missed ‘im.” 

Ending with a quick nod of his own, Dick headed towards the main staircase to presumably collect his belongings and depart. As Alfred continued to silently clear the table, he allowed a chastising glance to slither Bruce’s way. Pointedly choosing to ignore it, he quietly took to his study to once again think over where he and Dick now stood. 

Fortunately, the indication of being in touch meant Nightwing’s batcom would be open once again. Over the years of distance and time split between teams and locations, Nightwing didn’t always operate with a direct line to all the bats readily open. If there were plans in motion, sure, but when handling his own business in Bludhaven, he typically kept to himself if there wasn’t a need for direct involvement from his family. It was never an issue regardless, seeing as Batman could always contact him through other means, but the gesture was there. 

And by extension, a renewed hope for Bruce to figure out just what was ailing his son.

———

“Still can’t believe Nightwing was here for a whole three days, and I missed him,” Robin huffed out, partially from the frustration of missing a chance to see his brother and partially from the exertion of removing his boots. 

Their patrol had been a long one, clocking in just shy of four am. It only took the initial twenty minutes of his sulking over Dick’s failure to even message him before Batman had his highly-capable Robin working alongside him. Tim had been restless from his long weekend spent cooped-up indoors and was eager to get back out into the field (and to vent some other familial frustrations, Bruce suspected). 

Bruce was a little eager himself to oblige the boy’s need to vent, the focus on crime-fighting welcomed after his own rumination over Dick’s mysterious troubles.

“Is there something big going on in the ‘haven?” Tim suddenly asked, his mask freshly removed.

“Not to my knowledge,” Bruce supplied after removing his own cowl. After a moment, he added “Nightwing is more than capable of looking after his city.”

“Hm. I’m just wondering because Alfred mentioned Dick was…out of it.”

Bruce now turned to face him, but Tim merely glanced up from his activities in return. He appeared nonchalant and casual carrying on in his undressing, but his calculated worry was evident to anyone who knew the boy.

“Alfred…is correct. But I have trust in Nightwing to know his limits.” At this, Tim actually let out a snort. 

“Bruce, we both know he’s right behind you in needless self-destruction.” 

Bruce did indeed know this. However, he also knew that no matter how well-intentioned Tim’s probe into the matter was, this was something Dick had definitely wanted to keep from his younger brother. 

Bruce simply raised a wry eyebrow in response before turning back to his own undressing. 

“Even so, he’s more than earned our ability to respect his.” 

Only then did Robin seem to drop it, understanding that he would get nowhere with questioning Batman. Bruce was sure Tim had alternative tactics to getting answers already lined up in his head, but there was only so much the Batman could do to deter the boy from an apparent secret that he himself did not know. 

When Robin finally took his leave, their next patrol set in two day’s time, Bruce remained in the cave. Pulling up his own tabs on activity in Bludhaven, he began to sift through the data log. 

Though he had learned (the hard way, might he add) to do his best in allowing Nightwing the autonomy to handle Bludhaven without involvement, Batman still monitored the basic activity that could have any relation to going-ons in Gotham. And if he monitored a bit beyond that, it was only as a safety measure for occasions such as this. 

Even so, the past couple of months showed nothing abnormal from what Nightwing normally dealt with. Hardly anything outside of what wasn’t already reported directly to him; just a general input on petty crime, gang activity and drug pedaling. In fact, the latter issue had been the most recent incident of note, having been the last major case Nightwing was involved in only a week prior. 

He didn’t need to check the logs to recall Nightwing reporting in that his tracking and break-down of this particular drug circle had been handled without issue over the course of three months and finally wrapped up a few days before his call. 

It didn’t make sense for this to be the source of such a dramatic shift in his ward. Throughout those three months, there had been no incidents of note, no prior moments of behavioral shifts. All signs, and even admission from Dick himself, had pointed to his issue being a personal one; perhaps even more so than Bruce had made the mistake of assuming. 

Just as he was reading the clean-cut case file for the fifth time, Alfred had materialized beside his chair.

“So I take it you’ve made no further attempts to contact Master Richard?”

Feeling the jab for what it was, Bruce simply turned to face the butler. “Alfred, you know how he is when he’s upset.”

“Yes, I do. And that is exactly why I know something is terribly off for him to have behaved the way he did this past weekend,” he tutted in response, positioning himself further into Bruce’s line of sight. 

Wearily, Bruce sighed. “I have no idea what could’ve happened. His last case was resolved cleanly and without incident.”

“He told you this himself?”

“His reports match up directly with all BHPD files and contain nothing remarkable or out of the ordinary. No suspects linking back to Dick Grayson’s civilian life.”

“Well, Master Bruce, have you considered you don’t know everyone in Master Richard’s ‘civilian life?’” Alfred countered coolly. 

Meeting it head on, Bruce held his gaze. “Of course. But looking into these men, they’re all small-time offenders, no major run-ins with BHPD, no suits or anyone from Gotham. They were the last stragglers on the edge of a bigger operation.” 

“Hm,” the butler folded his hands behind his back, leaning forward before continuing “well with the lengths you are going to investigate everything surrounding this mystery, I would suggest going straight to the source one last time.”

With that, he straightened out and silently fell back into his role of servitude, offering “Would you care for a cup of tea, Master Bruce?”

Bruce simply stared in response, and Alfred swiftly set out to retrieve the tea from the opposite lab desk. 

In the few minutes between retrieval and serving, Bruce seemed to have deflated from his defensive stance, somberly admitting “He won’t talk to me, Alfred.”

With a look of sympathy, the older man replied “He will, Master Bruce. He needs someone right now, and evidently he’s chosen you.” 

The aroma of the Earl Grey spread as the light clinking sound of spoon against glass filled the empty space between the two men. Once the room fell back into ambient silence, Alfred placed a gloved hand on his eldest ward’s shoulder for one last reassurance. 

“He may have doubted his choice this time, but you must not let him believe those doubts. Especially not by poking around behind his back.” 

Glancing up to meet the butler’s eyes, Bruce gave a nod in silent appreciation, and he was once again alone with his thoughts. 

He still could not understand what connection there could be between Nightwing’s activities and the uneasiness he was broadcasting through all his behaviors. He was no fool to discount the possibility of the drug-busting case somehow being linked to this sudden change, being that it was the closest documented occurrence in Dick’s life, but the evidence of a personal intimate relationship being the source was too strong to ignore. 

Dick himself had even identified the issue as non-work related. But remembering both Alfred and Tim’s comments as well as his own past experiences, Bruce knew better than to believe he was being entirely forth-coming.

Setting his tea down with a heavy sigh, Bruce pulled open a window and quickly set about drafting a message to Oracle. He was still willing to listen to Alfred’s plea to approach Dick directly, but he allowed himself this slight exception, wanting to be as prepared as possible. 

He couldn’t risk having the boy shut him out any further when their relationship was just making its shaky climb back to where it used to be, and not when Dick himself seemed so shaken. Alfred was right, he needed someone, and that someone was meant to be him.

_O,_

__

__

_Need an eye on Nightwing. Tell me if anything’s out of the ordinary._

_\- B_

If anyone were to understand the intricacies of Dick’s facade, it would be Barbara. Not only that, but she knew when and when not to use discretion in cases of intervention. In this instance, Bruce could admit that that stood as an advantage in dealing with both Dick’s actions and his own.

Once the message was encrypted and sent off, he pushed back and stood, setting down his now empty cup. His mind was made up: he would allow a day or two for Dick to cool off before approaching him one last time. If his behavior took any more sudden turns before then, Bruce could trust in Barbara alerting him appropriately.

Stretching tiredly before turning for the stairs, he hoped she wouldn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned before, I took a while to chip away at this story over a long period of time, so you may notice some changes in my writing style from here on out. I can't tell if it's even evident, but wanted to address it lol..
> 
> Thanks for the continued support!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **CW: description of a character verging on a panic attack and non-explicit discussion of attempted sexual assault**
> 
> Please keep yourself safe!

The ping came a day later as Bruce was alone in the cave doing a perfunctory equipment check, not too far from the main computer. Immediately, his heart spiked with a sharp anxiety, but he quickly tucked away any irrational assumptions before pulling up his communications window on the large monitor. 

As expected it was from Oracle, a short but urgent message:

_Nightwing down. No major vitals tripped, but odd movement pattern before halting._

The text was followed by a location that he immediately pulled up on his tracking system. As he swiftly prepared the bat mobile for immediate use, he opened comms to growl out, “How long?”

“About thirty minutes, he was on his usual patrol route but suddenly stopped in an alley.” Her voice was clear and alert, only softened by the slight static and crackle of her communicator. 

“It could be nothing, but I dunno, B. It looked like he was moving aimlessly before just stopping completely. Could have been hit by something…”

The worry evident in her voice as she trailed off was not only felt by her, Bruce’s grip on the wheel as he pulled out of the cave turning painfully tight. It was not uncommon for them to run into suspects carrying any variant of fear toxin or a plant-based concoction meant to subdue them. Though the substances sold in underground markets were merely modeled after their high grade counterparts—only held by the likes of Scarecrow or Ivy—they were still no laughing matter.

He pressed further on the pedal as his ETA was determined; about thirty-one minutes. He reported as much to Oracle, before adding, “Tell me if there are any changes to his location or condition.” 

“Of course.” 

With that, he focused solely on weaving between the straggling late night traffic, mind running through stock of first aid supplies and anti-toxins on his person and in the car. 

Bruce had managed to cut the thirty-one minutes down to twenty-four, but it had still felt far too long. The only reassurance he had that he would not find a gravely injured Nightwing was the lack of any further alerts from Oracle, and as he entered the five mile radius of his location, Batman patched into the hero’s emergency comm link. 

“Nightwing, are you injured?” 

“W-what? Batman?” 

Batman withheld the sigh of relief that wanted to rush out of him from hearing the lucid voice of the younger man, even if it was slightly out of breath. 

“How did you—“ 

“I’m approaching your location now.” 

“What?! _No_ , no, I’m fine, B, you didn’t have to—” Bruce didn’t pay attention to the rest of his protests as he slammed the Batmobile into park and fluidly slid out into the alley. 

Nightwing was clearly not happy to have him here, his tone terse and defensive. However, he was sorely mistaken if he believed a verbal assurance without visual confirmation would be enough to send the Batman away without question. 

He quickly angled his attentions upwards when his quick sweep of the alley did not reveal the figure he was looking for. As he mapped the quickest route to reach the rooftop, Nightwing’s voice cut back in to his focus, stern this time.

“B, I didn’t leave my comm open so you could monitor my every move!” 

This time he could hear an echo outside of his ear-piece, immediately changing course. After a quick scale up the right wall of the alley, he landed on a lower roof, a small landing hidden between the taller buildings. There, against a back corner, was Nightwing. He was slightly braced against the wall behind him, presumably having just risen from a seated position. 

This observation was made quickly, though, as Dick was immediately storming towards him. 

“Why are you here? I didn’t send out any distress signals.” They both knew that was irrelevant, although Batman did not acknowledge it with an answer. Instead, he pressed on unperturbed. 

“Were you hit with anything?”

“Only with the realization that I really can’t trust you to respect boundaries.” Dick’s voice was laced with exasperation. He stood close, glaring up into the cowl with his arms crossed tightly across his chest, shoulders hunching in and tight with anxiety. Bruce couldn’t help but feel that was an unfair accusation, but was self-aware enough to know that it was deserved.

“You were immobile after an unusual movement pattern.”

A hint of embarrassment, or even possibly shame, seemed to seep into Nightwing’s expression as he awkwardly dropped his arms. He let out a short, quiet huff before finally breaking the glare. It was almost childish how he was trying to hide what was clearly transpiring, though if it was for fear of chastising or belittlement, Bruce did not know.

“Well, I’m fine, see?” Dick moved to push past him. “So if you’d be so kind as to let me finish my patrol—“

“You were incapacitated to the point of not moving for nearly an hour,” Bruce reiterated, this time his own tone colored by impatience. 

Anger flared across Nightwing’s face as he turned sharply, his words tight with the strain of containing it. “I was resting. Sue me.”

“Then why are you still out of breath?” 

This time the anger swelled as Dick breathed deeply into his chest, but it seemed to leave him just as quickly when a shaking exhale spilled out of him, and— _there_ —Bruce could finally see it. A clenched jaw, lips twitching into a frown, eyebrows furrowing. Another deep, shaky inhale and exhale; his chest constricted with an acute twinge of anxiety as he saw the continuation of a breakdown gripping his eldest son. 

His immediate reaction was to step forward and brace the boy, but stiffly halted the action as Nightwing calmly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the roof, placing his elbows on his knees and his head between his hands. His breathing continued to loudly fill the air, but Bruce quickly identified the pattern as a breathing technique he taught all his proteges, meant to steady and ground oneself when spiraling. 

He followed along in counting in his own head for what felt like an eternity before the intended effect finally took place, Nightwing’s breathing returning to normal. 

After a few moments more, Bruce tentatively broke the silence. 

“Nightwing, tell me what’s going on.” 

A beat of silence passed before the boy lifted his head, his expression ashen and shameful. He seemed to be still arguing with himself on what he should do next. Taking a step closer, Bruce held fast, sensing this was the last chance he would have to be let in or shut out. 

“Please.”

That rare utterance seemed to finally spur Dick into a decision, his throat bobbing before he licked his lips. He returned his gaze to his hands.

“It…” Dick’s voice was wooden as he fell behind a mask of detachment, clearing his throat before continuing. “Happened about a week ago. Just a routine bust, had been tracking a small group that was on the rise with some harder drugs, pretty textbook case.”

Bruce didn’t let on that he was already aware of this, though he doubted Nightwing believed otherwise. Still, he had no intention of interrupting and let him continue in his recounting.

“It was the last supply they had coming in before they would go under since I’d hit all their other shipments, so I was prepared for some heightened security, y’know? More gun-power and grunts, the whole nine-yards. And I wasn’t wrong since that’s what I found,” he chuckled, an ironic tone creeping in, “but I guess I was a little too confident in my guesstimations.

“Someone probably tipped them off that I was the one hitting their shipments, so they came prepared.” Here his hands began to slowly clasp and unclasp, a tendency Dick seemed to have when he was nervous or uncomfortable. Batman’s own hands started to clench by his sides, hidden beneath his cape. 

“How so?” 

Nightwing quickly glanced up then back down before continuing, uncharacteristically timid.

“Well, when I finally dropped down into the place and we got into it, I managed to get down to the last five or six of ‘em before they pulled out a—” he paused, struggling to find the words, “it almost seemed like an air horn? But before I really saw it, I got blasted in the face with a cloud of _something_ ,” he shook his head, almost with incredulous entertainment at the memory. Guilt took reign however when he added, “I didn’t get a sample of whatever it was, though.” 

Before Dick could allow himself to stew in the perceived shortcoming, Bruce gently encouraged, “What happened next?” 

Dick’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his leg joining in on his fidgeting.

“I think they were hoping it would knock me out right away, but more than anything it made me nauseous. I kept up with them for a while, but when it started really kicking in, I was kind of in and out of it…

“One of them was on me and managed to land a pretty strong hit, and I think that’s when I really went under,” here he subconsciously moved to hold his side, his still healing ribs, “and when I woke up…

“They…it was different. They stopped punching and kicking. Instead, they were…”

Dick fell into a longer pause now, the air between them stilling. His continued fidgeting the only sign he was still present in the moment.

“They, had me on the ground. With the one still on top of me…I think he went to open my suit, and that’s when the defenses kicked in.” 

Bruce couldn’t breath. 

His hands were shaking, his heart having plummeted to the pit of his stomach. He felt ill, but remained passive as the world tunneled in on Dick’s increasingly horrific confession.

“At that point, I was able to regain control and the upper hand,” Dick fell back into a clinical mission report. He briefly detailed the men’s detainment and a follow-up of the drug distribution stats. 

But Bruce’s mind was still circling around the words Dick had said, and more importantly left unsaid:

_It was different…had me on the ground…on top of me…open my suit…_

Bruce slowly brought a hand to his face, a tremor just barely noticeable in it. The image of Dick’s neck in the cave, desperately hidden behind an oversized hoodie, pushed its way to the front of his mind. The prominent bruise along his throat, that he had teased him about. That had been…

Behind the cowl, his face felt hot with a deep sense of dread, his body reacting to the spike of shock pumping out of his chest. It felt almost like a rush of poisonous heat, but left only the feeling of ice in his veins. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until Dick speaking up again caused it to quietly rush out of him.

It seemed Nightwing had taken in Bruce’s reaction, his voice tinged with rushed reassurance, “It wasn’t that bad! Really, nothing happened, so…” he let his voice drift off, severely lacking his usual conviction. “So that was that.” 

Batman quickly brought his hand back under his cape, hiding the tremor in it. It was harder to hide the tension in his jaw, though, when he finally managed to speak.

“And afterwards, you came to the manor.”

Dick seemed to be uncomfortable once again, his nose wrinkling presumably at the memory of their last conversation. “Well, not immediately after, but, yeah. A few days later.” He looked away, shifting.

Those few days in the Manor replayed in Bruce’s mind as if the memories and conversations were blaring through a speaker. Every hesitant excuse and awkward avoidance, and worst of all the ways that Dick had downplayed his turmoil, had shut himself off after Bruce’s disgustingly false assumptions in the cave.

“Nightwing…” 

When Dick grimaced at that, Bruce stepped back. A little surprised by the sudden move, Nightwing watched him with a puzzled expression. Without warning, Bruce removed his cowl.

“Dick.”

Eyes wide, Dick fixed him with a cautious expression, one that said he couldn’t tell if he should brace for a reprimand, or…or something. So when Bruce spoke this time, he half expected the stunned reaction that followed. 

“I’m sorry.” 

There was a beat of palpable silence.

“ _You’re_ sorry?” Dick nearly laughed out, though it landed more as a huff. 

“Of course I am,” Bruce continued, his gaze steady and unyielding. “I failed to be there for you. To read the signs.” Dick laughed again, halting him from continuing. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, all right big guy, just…hold your horses,” his voice faltered as he scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a heavy sigh. He remained seated, face in hand, so Bruce waited patiently. 

“‘Read the signs?’ Jeez, Bruce, way to make a guy feel like an open book,” he finally dropped his hand to give a tired, warm smile. “And you totally did catch onto my moping, just for the record. Never could get anything past you.”

Despite the light tone Dick was aiming for and his supposed shift in mood, Bruce had to press on. 

“It wasn’t ‘moping’ Dick,” he stepped closer, “you shouldn’t trivialize what you’re going through.”

“I’m not—“ Dick’s voice cut in, sharp and tense. He paused before releasing another sigh and continuing softly. 

“It’s just… _hard_. Hard to be ‘going through’ something like _this_. Hard to admit it to myself, let alone to you.” His gaze was once again downcast, but his shoulders relaxed, body language finally poised as open. Bruce closed the remaining distance between them before kneeling and placing a hand on Nightwing’s shoulder. 

“I’m glad that you can.” 

His own sincerity felt nearly foreign on his tongue, though not because it was false. It was a flaw he recognized in himself, and one he was sure was apparent in his hesitant speaking cadence. 

In fact, a slight embarrassment began to creep in when his admission was left hanging in the air as Dick simply looked up at him, an almost child-like look of expectance for something more in his eyes. Unluckily, the silence was abruptly cut short by a stifled laugh from the boy. 

“Sorry, sorry” he finally made out through equally child-like giggles. 

“It’s just always funny to see you go against your ‘No Emotions Programming,’” he teased. Unamused at the blatant jab at his inability to communicate, Bruce quietly rose to his feet once again. When Dick’s eyes still held his, he offered a hand. 

Accepting it, Nightwing rocked up to his full height, rolling his neck slightly with a smile still ghosting his lips. The high-strung tension had left Dick’s body, but it was replaced with a heavy tiredness in his shoulders and neck. 

He raised a hand and flicked one of the cowl’s ears, which still hung off the back of Bruce’s neck. “Better cover up that sorry mug of your’s before we head back down.” 

A smile seeped its way into the corners of Bruce’s mouth as he obliged, a warmth slowly replacing the ice in his veins.

They descended the fire-escape in silence, and only once they were both tucked away in the safety of the Batmobile did Dick speak up again. 

“I owe you an apology.” 

Quickly turning to face him, Bruce was about to rebuff the notion that Dick was at any fault when he was cut off. 

“I really sold you short. Since I went home, you’ve been trying your best to make sure I was all right, in your own invasive way,” a dry humor painted his words. “I guess I was so convinced of the idea that you’d shut me out somehow, I shut _you_ out before I even gave you a chance.” 

Bruce understood that this was a vulnerable statement, not one meant to be taken as an offense, but a part of him felt crushed. Crushed by the fact that the idea was ever given life in Dick’s mind, no doubt through the distance he had helped create between them. He fought hard to keep any of the reactionary hurt he felt out of his voice.

“I would never shut you out, Dick. And you don’t have to apologize to me.

“We may have our differences from time to time,”—and wasn’t that putting it gently—“but I would never turn you away. And never for something like this.”

Dick seemed to release a deep breath he’d been holding, a somber look overtaking his eyes and tugging at the corners of his mouth. He considered his next words before speaking. 

“I know you never actually would. I’ve seen you handle,” his mouth closed for a moment of hesitation before continuing “victims with the same understanding. I guess part of me was just afraid of you knowing. Especially worrying the way you do,” there was a fondness when he spoke, though it quickly dissipated as he seemed to settle into what he said next. 

“And I mean, it’s not like this is the first time I’ve dealt with something like this.” 

The momentary silence that followed that statement felt like a thick, physical cloud between Bruce’s ears, halting all thoughts in a stifling standstill. Even so he had no time to linger on the admission before Dick carried on, “Which is why I can’t understand why it’s screwing me up so bad. A whole _week_ after the fact!”

Dick turned away, scowling out into the distance, shaking his head. 

“I just—I got out of it before they could even _do_ anything, really. We encounter people every day who’ve been through worse; _I’ve_ been through worse!” 

He seemed to be riding a wave of newfound energy, his voice climbing higher, “The only reminder I’ve got that it even happened is”—he gestured frantically towards his neck—“ _this_ ugly thing!” 

He panted softly after his outburst, flopping back against the seat, his frustration palpable in the muted interior space of the car. 

Bruce took in the now faded bruise, just barely peeking above the collar of the Nightwing suit. Just as quickly, he brought his gaze back up to the stormy face of his ward, whose eyes were burning into the dashboard before him. It felt like an impossible battle to build the connection from his brain to his mouth, but Bruce pushed through with a steady voice.

“There is no rhyme or reason for our reactions to trauma, and the fact that you’ve had a similar experience in the past only exacerbates this. 

No matter the perceived scale or significance, how your mind and body reacts is outside the control of rationalization. You know that just as well as I do. You shouldn’t discount human nature from yourself just because of what you do.” 

“Hah! Look who’s talking.”

“Dick.”

Bruce spoke his name with a silent plea, his tone gentle but insistent. Instantly the boy bristled, still riding the frantic outburst, but his eyes found his mentor’s. They stayed like that, Dick’s chest rising and falling faster than it had before. He held a flurry of emotions at bay, lips pressing together and eyes welling. Bruce stared back, no mask in place, no filter. 

A shaky, wet laugh once again escaped Nightwing’s lips. He quickly swiped at his eyes. 

“Sorry.” 

Then again, “Sorry.” 

A sniffle. 

The energy drained out of him instantly, the same exhaustion from before returning as he sank further down his seat. The air around him no longer seemed to be buzzing, whether that be due to his exhaustion, or the safety of the Batmobile and Bruce’s reassurances. 

Reaching over, Bruce placed a gloved hand atop Dick’s and gave a gentle squeeze. They stayed like that for a moment, before he finally gave a quick squeeze in return, a small nod punctuating the gesture.

And with that, the Batmobile hummed to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this doesn’t disappoint after such a long build-up, haha…(nervous laughter). I spent a lot of time mulling over this chapter, rehashing/reshuffling dialogue and reactions, but I think I’ve got it as good as I’m ever gonna get it. 
> 
> I liked having emotions be up and down vs. a clean-cut-let's-move-on ending, but I do plan on doing another epilogue chapter. Since I haven't started it yet (and am a very slow writer) I've just listed it as 4 chapters for now, though, but rest assured that I still want to play with this story :)
> 
> I am very new to writing, so I welcome concrit! Or if you just happened to catch any glaring errors lol
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed this story, and thanks for all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks; they mean more than you know! <3

**Author's Note:**

> there is no beta for this story, so please excuse any blatant errors that you find 😅  
> if there are any tags you think I should include, please let me know.
> 
> thanks for reading!


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